
Class. 






Book. LI'^^ JJ 



Cop}TightI?. 



xl. 



CfiEffilGHT DEPOSIT. 



IDYLLS 

FROM 

CHAMPLAIN 



BY 
ELLA WARNER FISHER 



LeROY PHILLIPS 

PUBLISHER 

1918 



^t> 



,»' 



Copyright, 1918 
J^eRoy Phillips 

AUG 17 1918 



,0)C!.A503148 






N^ 



r 






LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 
TO 

MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mother Dear . 1 

Lovely Champlain 4 

Vergennes 7 

On, Mansfield 9 

In Allen's Bay 10 

Our Last Ride 12 

Farragi/t at Mobile Bay 14 

The Church in the Valley 17 

Relics 19 

In the Borderland 20 

A Picture 25 

From My Window 26 

The Legend of the Corn 27 

The House on the Hill 29 

Winter Clouds 31 

Longing 32 

Earth's Mission 33 

On the Plain ^5 

The Woe of St. Pierre 37 

The Moonlight 39 

October 40 

Where? 41 

The Otter 43 

In the Twilight 46 

The Homelight 48 

A Prayer 49 

In the Dark 50 

Disappointment 51 

On the Cliffs 52 



PAGE 

Love 53 

Verse 54 

How THE West Began 55 

Nor Yet Alone 56 

When I Would Go 58 

God's Smile 59 

Our Name 60 

Why we Love Verge nnes 62 

Bells 65 

Laying the Corner Stone 66 

A Song 70 



THE VALLEY WAY 

There are bards who soar on pinions light 

'Mong satellites and stars, 
Their songs with rapture thrill the night 

In quivering beauty bars. 
They bring before our enchanted gaze 

Elysian fields so rare 
We dream of Heaven. 'Twould be no amaze 

To wake and find us there. 

I may not descend into the deeps 

Or soar above the heights ; 
I may not walk the rugged steeps 

Or indulge in aerial flights, 
But I can travel the beaten road 

Along the Valley Way; 
I can chant some humble ode 

For the folks of every day. 

There may be those with a willing ear, 

Who carry a heavy load. 
Perhaps some sorrowing soul will hear 

Along the Valley road. 
While other bards soar far and high, 

I will take the Valley Way ; 
My song may reach the hearts close by 

'Mong the folks of every day. 



MOTHER DEAR 

Afar away 

Some forgotten thread 
In the dim past, 
Do your remember, Mother dear? 
The garments that we made? 
The winding of the baste 
Upon a spool 
In the hour after school. 
As we sat, you and I, 

In that old familiar room 
On a winter afternoon 
So far away. 

The evening fell. 

Do you remember. Mother dear? 
How those quiet evenings fell, 
Enlivened by the readings 
While our patchwork grew. 

And on the children's stockings 
Our knitting needles flew ? 
Oft the storm without was raging, 
But the fire was burning brightly. 
Where we sat those hours together 
In that cosy, well loved room 
So far away. 



[1] 



The summer came, 

And a soft breeze stirred the curtains 
At the open window hung. 
From the doorway's ample vista 
We could see the waving cornfields 
And the clover bloom came floating 
From the meadows 
Where the scythes were being swung, 

In those happy, hazy days 
So far away. 

Do you remember 

We brought the table in. 
You and I, Mother dear.? 
And the tempting dinner spread 
With its ample dishes filled. 
Hungry men to satisfy? 

While they ate with eager zest, 
From the fair and teeming fields 
The summer fragrance floated in. 

To that old and cherished room 
So far away. 

Long and silent 

Are the many years between. 

And the scythes no more are swinging 
In the meadows sweet with bloom. 
Come the men no more at noonday 
From their washing at the bench. 



[2] 



To the spreading of the table 
In that flower laden room, 
For no backward tide is rolling 
Save the memories sad and sweet, 
And those days are gone forever, 
As a volume that is finished 
And complete. 

The Reader sleeps. 

On his grave the grass is waving, 
Even now your hair is white — 
Is it evening. Mother dear ? 

Do others keep the fires burning. 
Where we used to sit together 
With the quiet and the peace. 
Sheltered from the wind and weather, 

In that memory laden room 
So far away? 



[3] 



LOVELY CHAMPLAIN 

Faint are the traces 

O, lovely Champlain, ^ 

Of the limits that bound you ! 

In the dim silent past. ] 

On the rocks of your basin i 

The records were cast '■ 

Ere the finger of man ] 

Was created to write. \ 
When your waters were gathering 

From forces unseen, \ 

And filling the hollows j 

The mountains between, j 

By giant upheavals '\ 

Your tides were confined, ] 

Ere the sun of the morning ) 

Arose on your face. j 

Changing your moods i 

O, lovely Champlain, ■ 
The wide blue above you 

Where scudding clouds sweep; j 

The craft that sail o'er you i 

While unruffled you sleep ; j 

The water fowl swooping j 

With bright wings outspread; ' 

The age serried cliffs I 

And the steep verdured hills, \ 



[4] 



In faithful reflection 

Your still deeps have caught, 

All spread in a painting j 

Of imagery rare. i 

j 

Changeful your moods, \ 

O, lovely Champlain, ] 

One touch of the wind \ 

You are moving again, j 

Your waters aripple ' 

All studded with light, J 

Like fine sheeted silver ] 

Agleam in the sun. i 

Your murmuring plaint j 

Calling soft to the shore j 

In lullabys luring | 

To dreams and to sleep, i 
All down the long valley 
Where your bright waters sweep. 

Grand is your wrath, 

O, wondrous Champlain, ; 

When the fierce winds sweep o'er you 

From the mountains' steep crown. 

Your loud angry waters \ 

In foam crested swells, j 

Come breaking to shoreward 1 

Where the lines of white driftwood i 

And the smooth pebbles lie, j 

[5] 



Or where rocky confines 
Rise defiant and grim, 
And the wild eagle guards 
Her brood from the storm. 

But useless your fury, 

O, angry Champlain, 

You cannot be free 

Though the boom of your anger 

Resound like the sea. 

Staunch cedars and pines 

Stand fast on the beach, 

Their voices in harmony 

And sympathy blend. 

Unheard is their calling 

While the storm winds sweep on — 

The play of the lightning 

And the thunder's deep roll. 

Seem but the echo 

Of your own surging soul. 



[6] 



VERGENNES 

There's a beautiful valley along Champlain, 

A sunlit vale of dreams, 
Where Nature trails her garments fair 

To the lilt of purling streams. 
Adown the valley a river deep 

Threading its swift and winding way, 
Leaps over the boulders wild and steep. 

In a tumult of foaming spray. 

And ever the mists above it rise. 

As in pristine days of old, 
And the western sunlight filtering through 

Turns it to cloth of gold. 
The lure of its call drew Nature's child. 

The swift footed Red Man, here ; 
As through the tangle of forest wild 

He chased the fleeing deer. 

The White Man heard its murmuring call, 

And his axe resounding rang. 
The forest blossomed about the Fall 

And the forge of the smithy sang. 
A city he built on the hillsides there 

And the hollows that lie between; 
A spot endowed by Nature rare 

Along the river's bright sheen. 



[7] ! 



The city still stands about the Fall, 

Its founders have passed away, 
And many have heard the luring call 

Since that dim and distant day. 
There are grander cities beneath the skies. 

But none that are half so dear, 
Where shrouding mists o'er the waters rise 

And beckoning wraiths appear. 



[8] 



ON MANSFIELD 

To the North from the din of the City, 

The Monarch of Mansfield lies, 
The scars of the centuries seam his face, 

Raised high in the gleaming skies ; 
Huge masses of rock rise defiant ; 

Their outlines forbidding and wild, 
And the winds sweep free and unbroken 

Over Solitude's favorite child. 

The lovers of Nature have found him. 

The flaws in his armor thej^ know. 
The rare mosses fed by cool waters. 

On their way to the valley below ; 
The nooks in the sweet SAvaying balsams, 

The caves in his dark stony side, 
The lake that he hid in his bosom. 

The paths that to man he denied. 

The lovers of Nature have found him. 

From out of the east and the west. 
Over boulders and brake and tangle 

They come from valley to crest, 
They watch the red sunset at even. 

The glory of sunrise they know. 
The glimpses of cloudland and Heaven, 

And the silent world below. 



[9] 



IN ALLEN'S BAY 

O LIMPID sparkling water, 

All shimmering in the Bay ! 
Still rippling on the stony beach 

As it did that distant day, 
When here we raised our tent 

Ere fell the eventide, 
And the little woodland dwellers 

To hidden nests had hied. 

The fragrant pine and cedar 

With boughs all interlaced, 
For us a sheltering canopy 

By lavish Nature placed. 
'Twas here our rude board table 

In jest and laughter laid. 
Was circled by dear old faces — 

May their memory never fade. 

Right here's the very crevice 

Where we piled the rocks up higher. 
And hung our steaming kettle 

Above a crackling fire. 
Our bonfires cleft the darkness 

When summer nights were warm, 
And here our boats lay rocking 

In sunshine and in storm. 



[10] 



The faces gay and smiling, 

Who'll smile at us no more — 
We seem to see them once again 

Along this dear old shore ; 
Some are gone away forever, 

In quiet graves they lie. 
And some in countries far 

For home in vain may sigh. 

Reverently we are standing 

With sweet memories all around. 
And softly they remind us 

That this is hallowed ground. 
The twilight shades are falling — 

The close of a radiant day ; 
But voices still are calling 

To us in Allen's Bay. 



[11] 



OUR LAST RIDE 

It was a country road that wound away 
In long white stretches that summer day, 
Nature lay locked in a calm so dead, 
Not the stir of a leaf in the trees overhead. 

With hanging head in the sultry heat 
The horse went on with reluctant feet. 
The wheels rolled slowly in deep white sand, 
And an old man drove with trembling hand. 
His hair was bleached with the passing years. 
And his gaze intent, as one who hears 
Some far off call with tightening dread 
While life yet dear, holds by a thread. 

And so we journeyed that sultry day. 

But few we met on the lonely way. 

The bridges were swept by recent rain. 

And we drove out on the grassy plain, ] 

Over the pebbles of the shallow bed \ 

Where the crystal river noisily sped, \ 

Then we came to a village street — | 

Fit place for a hermit to retreat. 

With silent houses on either side, ■ 

And vacant windows open wide. 

Doors on broken hinges slack ; | 

Storm-swept clapboards beaten black; i 

Grass grown yards and empty space, \ 

Threw a strangeness o'er the place. \ 



One house there was, it looked almost new, 
Where people lived and flowers grew. 

A leaning bridge ; a ruined mill, 
Its cumbrous wheel forever still; 
Swallows circling about their nests 
Cobwebs clinging to their breasts. 
Bold and fearless within its shade 
Bats and owls their homes had made. 
A chattering squirrel perched aloft ; 
A brown wren calling in accents soft ; 
These and others within its shade 
Happy and fearless their homes had made. 

Where are they who once dwelt here? 
And do their ghosts of nights appear? 
Do leaning porch and mildewed walls 
Resound to strange sepulchral calls? 
And phantom feet o'er sunken floors 
Pass in and out the creaking doors? 
Just vacant houses and ruined mill. 
And silence of nature, O how still ! 

Then we turned in the grassy street. 
And homeward jogged in the sultry heat. 
Over long, lone stretches of deep white sand. 
And an old man drove with trembling hand. 



[13] 



FARRAGUT AT MOBILE BAY i 

The enemy's forts a stern front wore j 

Like sentinel guards on either shore ; ■ 

Where the turbid waters to seaward sweep, ] 

Destructive missiles lay buried deep. ] 

Defiance blazed from each bristling gun , 

Of the hostile fleet in the morning sun ; | 

His battering rams awaited the fight, ] 

Sheeted in armor and hidden from sight, j 

And with bated breath in silence lay ] 
Upon the waters of Mobile Bay. 

Admiral Farragut our bright flag bore 

On the fifth of August in sixty-four, i 

From every staff of his ships of war ' 

As they sailed across the harbor bar; \ 

More thrilling sight not often is seen j 

As they waved and fluttered in starry sheen. \ 

Each burnished deck was cleared for fight 

And spotless shone in the morning light, 

From gulf to channel in battle array | 

On the fair false bosom of Mobile Bay. ■ 

The brooding silence in echoes awoke. 

Over Fort Morgan rolled the angry smoke ; \ 

Beneath the waters in a deadly mine ! 

Lay the enemy's hidden torpedo line. j 
Commander Craven the fray began 

With the doomed Tecumseh leading the van ; I 
[14] 



She quivered and poised an instant and then 
With her crew of over a hundred men, 
In a watery vortex was downward borne, 
While loved ones still in the Northland mourn. 

Then into the midst of the deadly shelling 

Came Admiral Farragut his orders telling, 

Far up the rigging, and then lest he 

Become the prey of the hungry sea. 

Was lashed to the shrouds on the Hartford's 

deck 
And sailed above the Tecumseh*s wreck ; 
Above the perilous torpedo mine, 
Where each missile raked his ships in line. 
Then each in turn dropped harmless away 
In the troubled waters of Mobile Bay. 

As to right and left his brave ships fought, 

Out of confusion good order he wrought ; 

To right and left rose the battle smoke 

And far inland the booming broke ; 

Earth with bolted thunder was riven 

When an angel left her place in Heaven ; 

No mortal saw the wings she spread 

Over the daring Admiral's head. 

But unscathed he came through the dreadful 

fray 
On the wreck strewn waters of Mobile Bay. 



[15] 



Each fort was silenced ; each bristling gun 
That burnished shone in the morning sun, 
Smirched and blackened at eve hung stilled, 
And moans of the wounded the night air filled ; 
Dead men lay where the living had been, 
And a brooding hush fell soft on the din. 
Peace is bought at the price of war, 
And it settled over the harbor bar. 
When Farragut, Heaven protected that day. 
Won the battle of Mobile Bay. 



[16] 



j 
THE CHURCH IN THE VALLEY ■ 

There's a moss grown church in the valley, \ 

And ivy climbs over the wall ; 
The tall grass grows over the threshold 

Where the silent night dews fall. i 

The old bell lies there in the turret, ; 

And its musical chiming is still, ' 

Once it awoke the glad echoes } 

Through valley and towering hill. 

Where is the rosy cheeked maiden 

And where is the wrinkled dame, 
Who every Sabbath morning 

From over the meadows came? ' 

And where is the grey haired sexton ' 

Who stood on the belfry stair, I 

And rang the old bell in the turret i 

While the worshippers gathered there? i 

Go out in the silent church yard, j 

For there they are all laid low, ] 

And there is the white-haired preacher | 

Of fifty years ago. | 

And there is the good old deacon, j 

Who sat by the chancel rail i 
And prayed the Lord to gather the grain 

And burn up the wayward kale. ^ 



[17] 

I 
I 

( 

J 
1 



There are grand churches in the City ; 

The City that rose in a day, 
And the old stone church in the valley 

Is now but a ruin grey. 
And the simple village people, 

As they pass on the other side, 
Will warn you in awe-struck whisper 

To give it a margin wide. 

As you stand in the gathering shadows 

And list to each sound that you hear, 
There's something indefinite stealing. 

And fancy is morbid with fear ; 
The wind rustles vague through the ivy 

And over the tombstones bare, 
And the spirit of buried ages 

Seems keeping you company there. 

You look for the white-haired preacher 

With text book in his hand. 
And the rush of a night bird past you 

Seems a guest from another land. 
The rats in the belfry daze you. 

And you go with quickened tread 
And leave the old church in the valley 

Alone with its slumbering dead. 



[18] 



RELICS 

There's a nameless charm about them 

The things of bygone days, 
They are quaint and strangely fashioned, 

Nor fit our modern ways. 
We touch them with reverent fingers, 
And our fond thought o'er them lingers. 
And the ones who loved them so 
Long ago. 

There's a mystic charm about them, 

The relics of days of yore. 
But we shall do without them, 

As those who have gone before. 
When we are gone will some one care. 
Or a thought on these old relics spare. 
And wonder why we loved them so 
Long ago.? 



[19] 



IN THE BORDERLAND 

I HAVE been in the house 

Of my childhood to-day, 

Exploring the rooms 

Where I used to play. 

The sunrise glinted pellucid gold 
Through its eastern windows 
And its doorway old, 
Under the slant of its lowly eaves, 
Where nest of the homing swallow cleaves, 

I passed again, as once I passed 

When the posts were straight 

And the sills were fast, 

Into the silent kitchen door. 

And again I saw 
The great dim fireplace. 
The old oak floor. 

The roomy pantry, dismantled and bare, 
Once big and exhaustless. 
With dainties to spare ; 
The little bedroom that used to be mine 
Sunken and mildewed 
And silent as time — 
Once draped with red peonies 
And asparagus plumes. 
Its broken paned window 
The sunshine illumes. 

[20] 



On into the parlor, my Grandmother's room, 
Where shades of green made a semi-gloom. 

And I saw again 
Its wide open fireplace 
And andirons bright. 
Where the fire leaped high 
On a wintry night ; 

The flawless spare bedroom 

With its fourposter staid. 

Where Grandmother's star quilt 

All spotless was laid. 

I looked up the stairway, 

Began its ascent. 

It tottered and creaked 

As upward I went. 

To the dear old chamher 
With its dormer window 
Looking out on the East — 

With a chair I oft climbed 
To a seat on the sill ; 
Its outlook and quiet 
My need seemed to fill. 

Unmolested the birds 
Plad builded their nests. 
The riot of sunrise 
Lay bright on their breasts ; 
[21] 



They fluttered and flew \ 

In frightened dismay, \ 

While I carefully threaded i 

My onward way ^ 

To the wide front chamber, 
My Grandmother's pride, 
Where her gnests of honor 
Oft came to abide. 

/ tiptoed across its clattering floor, i 

Its walls and its windows were 

A chaos of ruin and nothing more. ; 

In those far-a-way days \ 

When my small feet strayed ; 

Across its threshold, like one arrayed j 

In some act forbidden, j 

I backed to the door 

Close watching for goblins ] 

I felt must be there, ^ 

Precipitate fled, the chUls \ 

Down my spine, 1 

The wind in my hair, ] 

In the big front yard j 

There now is no trace, i 

Of the flowers whose fragrance ] 

Once filled the place. ! 



The sweet old-fashioned things I loved, 
Each side of the walk 
That led to the door 

Are gone. 

But the old stone step 
Worn smooth by the feet 
That will tread it no more, 
Lies just as it lay 
In my childhood days 
So far away. 

The lilacs are gone 

And the climbing rose 
That festooned the window there. 
The sunsets fall with the bright blaze 
Of glory rare. 

The purple deeps of the twilight lie 
As they used to lie on summer nights. 
When living forms passed to and fro 
In the homey blaze of cheery lights. 

Those days are gone 

And the forms are gone 
Once our love and care ; 
The spirit of things 
That once have been, 
Are vanished like empty air. 
[23] 



We shall find our loves 
In the Borderland, 

It is not so far away ; 
Its homes yield not 
To stain or spot 
Of ruin or decay. 



[24] 



A PICTURE 

The water laps softly on the beach, 
And from my feet a shimmering track 
Sparkles and scintillates 
Across the Bay in the moonlight. 
Back in the dim woods 
Are shadowy aisles 
Where the crickets are singing, 
And now and then a fflow worm 
Glistens in the path. 



fc>' 



There are no lights in the Cottage; 

The broad Lake lies silent 

Beneath the stars ; 

The pines nod softly to each other, 

For God has descended from His Heaven. 



[25] 



FROM MY WINDOW 

Winter rain came pattering down, 

It soaked the roofs of the grey old town, 

The skies turned a dark and sullen hue, 

The air grew a little keener too ; 

The snow fell light as thistle down. 

And whitened the earth so bare and brown ; 

It flurried about each skeleton tree, 

And with every passer-by made free ; 

It coated each roof in spotless white. 

And on each shrub clung fast and tight. 

The rifts in the clouds wore a lovely blue. 

The air grew a little keener too. 

On a silent town in spotless white, 

The moon smiled down from her dizzy height. 

Through feathery aisles of orchard trees. 

Over roofs of patient quiet bees. 

On the fences and over the lane. 

Out on the meadow's level plain. 

The fettered brooklet showing through, 

The mountain tops in the distant blue; 

All in their snowy dress of white. 

And the smiling moon on her dizzy height. 



[26] 



THE LEGEND OF THE CORN 

In the golden days of Harvest | 

When skies are blue and fair, i 
Beyond the purpling hill tops, 

When a chill's in the bracing air. ■ 

Among the nodding cornfields | 

Russet and red and gold, 
Autumn, in robes of beauty. 
Lingers before the cold. 

1 

'Tis said in the old time legend j 

When the Harvest moon is bright, j 
Out of the Happy Hunting Grounds 

Into the whispering night, ; 

Come the allied Indian forces ' 

In feathered dress of yore, i 

A spectral, weird procession j 

To lead the dance once more. j 

They move in solemn rhythm ■ 

And sway with every breeze, ] 

Their lithesome, sinuous motions \ 
The grace of savage ease; 

They shake their rustling fringes, j 

And nod their feathered plumes, | 

And all their gaudy trappings | 

The moonlight soft illumes. j 



[27] 



And so when the corn is standing 

In shocks on the moonlit ground, 

And the night wind roams among them 

With a mournful, moaning sound. 

They come in strange procession 

With feathered dress of yore. 
And chant some old time melody 
As they lead the dance once more. 



[28] 



THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 

A House with wmgs on either side^ 

Crowning the hill where tall elms sway^ 

Whose many whispering voices 
In soft cadences die away. 

Its call goes forth from an open door 

As many a call has gone before ; 

The maimed, the lame, the ill and blind. 

Like weary pilgrims come to find 

A surcease from their haunting pain — 

The boon of life and health again. 

Of such was I. Through its open door 

I passed, as many had done before, 

Weary and ill in body and soul, 

A suppliant praying to be made whole. 

At shut of even in the semi gloom. 

An Angel passed from room to room; 

Her touch brought hope to' the heart of the 

weak. 
And the blush of health to many a cheek. 
Now and then by some stricken bed 
An instant she paused and pitying said, 
" You can bear no more. Come home with me. 
From this broken body I'll set you free." 
The two passed out like a fleeting breath 
And this is the Passing that men call Death ; 

[29] 



The unseen Nurse who comes each night, 
And no man sees when she takes her flight. 

Through endless days and nights of pain, 

When shadows clouded my weary brain, 

She subdued my heart's wild throbbing strife 

And quelled the turbulent channels of life. 

I saw her not. She spoke no word, 

I only knew that my pulses stirred. 

And life and health infused again 

The broken structure where despair had lain. 

The Angel that men call Death is Life ; 

To some she brings peace from endless strife; 

She comes by day and oft by night. 

But no man sees when she takes her flight. 

She may return at no distant day. 

But my work will not unfinished lay, 

Since she gave to me to feel once more 

The sweet pure air of the open door. 

A House with wings on either side. 

Crowning the hill where tall elms sway^ 

Whose many whispering voices 
In soft cadences die away. 



[30] 



WINTER CLOUDS 

Dark sullen clouds are lifting 

Fantastic shapes on high, 
In changing masses drifting 
Across the wintry sky. 
Lifting, 
Drifting, 

Ever shifting 
Across the wind swept sky. 

Somewhere the sun is shining — 

Must be they've turned to gold, 
For the fringes of their lining 
Our longing eyes behold ; 
Shining, 
Lining, 

Intertwining, 
Our watching eyes behold. 

With dark days ever coping 

Behind the frosted pane. 
Our waiting hearts are hoping 
'Til Springtime comes again, 
Groping, 
Coping, 
Hoping 
'Til Springtime comes again. 



[ai] 



LONGING 

I STOOD on the city's pavement, 

And looked with dizzy eyes 
On the piles of cement and marble 

Towering to meet the skies. 
I heard the din and clatter ; 

The clamor and rush and rattle, 
Like the tread of a mighty army 

And the swelling surge of battle. 

And I longed for the quiet country. 

The smell of the new mown hay. 
The lanes where once we traveled. 

That led o'er the hills away. 
The farm house back in the meadow. 

And the waving fields of grain. 
The golden fruit of the orchard 

And to feel like a child again. 



[32] 



EARTH'S MISSION j 

j 

The Earth I 
Is a great teacher. 
The best results 

Are obtained by cultivation; i 

From the products of her surface ] 

Man builds his home; | 

She yields sustenance ! 

For his support, 'i 

And warmth for his comfort. ! 
In her cool embrace 

Man lays away his dead, i 

And she reduces 

His bones to dust. ' 

She drinks up the blood of battles, ; 
And sends therefrom 

The sweet aroma \ 

Of the wild flowers. | 

The Earth 

Is a great teacher, 

And man may take 

A lesson therefrom; j 

The best results \ 

To the mind of man, | 

Are obtained by cultivation. ] 

He must be trained i 

In the way of good ; ] 



[33] 



He must be taught the inspiration 
Of Purity and Truth, 

Lest into his soul creep lust and murder, 
And man become a leper. 
Let him take a lesson from the Earth — 
Both are the creation of God, 
And Purity and Truth 
Are His attributes. 



[34] 



ON THE PLAIN 

Whispering winds 
Among the pines, 

Sighing sad and low, 
Gathering haste 
O'er snowy waste, 
Wailing as they go. 

Faring forth 
From the north, 
Bitter, biting cold, 
Fiercely beat 

The stinging sleet 
E'er the day is old. 

O'er the plain 
A man drew rein 

In the raging storm. 
Flickering life 
In feeble strife 

Essaying to be warm. 

A shuddering sound 
In fierce rebound ; 

A long and curdling wail, 
Upon the track 
A coward pack 

Coming through the gale. 

[35] 



Morning fair, 
Sky so clear, 

Sunlight seeks in vain 
The hurtling fate; 
The thirst insatiate 

Of the empty, silent plain. 



[36] 



THE WOE OF ST. PIERRE 

Long the Southern sunshine glinted 

The roofs of St. Pierre, 
Mont Pelee's sheltering slopes were tinted 

With tropic flowers rare. 
Ships came and went, a gala lot, 

And men passed to and fro, 
And life was bright in this island spot 

As anywhere one may go. 

But one fatal morn Mont Pelee broke 

The vials of his wrath. 
To death the sleeping town awoke 

In grim destruction's path. 
The monster vampire swooping down 

Poured out his molten fire. 
And of the helpless unwarned town 

Made a blackened funeral pyre. 

A flood of awful burning death 

Rolled out upon the sea; 
Ships were engulfed with every breath 

From shaking Mont Pelee. 
The decks with shriveled men were massed, 

The cordage to ashes fell. 
And over all a darkness cast. 

Like the very depths of Hell. 



[37] 



Storms may beat and gales may blow, 

'Til gales shall cease to be ; 
Ships may come and ships may go 

O'er the island studded sea — 
The sunlight woos that quiet grave 

And vainly thrills the air — - 
Nor ocean beating wave on wave, 

Can waken St. Pierre. 



[38] 



THE MOONLIGHT 

There are some things 

We cannot speak. 

When the moonlight lies white 

On the frozen ground, 

And long shadows 

Have their fling, 

We may turn low the light 

In a warm homey room. 

And sit at the window 

And think, 

And drink 

And absorb, but — 

There are some things 

We cannot speak. 



[39] 



OCTOBER . 

,1 

Month of russet and red and gold, i 

Shining days just edged with cold; * 

Purple sunsets and sweet still night ; j 

Skies that are blue and stars that are bright ; 

Hazy sunlight and golden sheaf ; I 

Mellow apples and falling leaf ; ; 

Busy farmers and lowing kine ^ 

Out in the rowen meadows fine ; • : 

Flocks of fowl in their southward flight; j 

Furry marauders at work all night. 1 

Whispering winds that wail and sigh | 

That all things bright are born to die ; s 

Fragrance of dying departing things ; ^ 

Rustling of red leaves where ivy clings ; 

The woodman's axe through the forest ringing; i 

The glad housewife at her first fire singing ; 

O fair October ! in robes divine, 

To link the seasons must ever be thine. \ 



[40] 



WHERE? 

Where is God? 

Is He hid away 
In the dim old aisles 
Where shadows lav? 

What answer gives 

The whispering breeze 
That plays among 
The vibrant trees? 

The trilling notes 

Of happy birds? 
The lowing of 

Contented herds? 

The dreamy rhythm 

Of yon purling stream? 
The Lake's fair bosom, 
Its waves agleam? 

Vale and valley 

And rolling hills? 
Woodland slopes 
And shaded rills? 

Grey piles of rock 

Where mosses grow? 
Grand mountain peaks 
White capped with snow? 



[41] I 



The heavenly blue | 

Of yonder sky ? j 

The fleecy clouds 1 

Enmassed on high? j 

The answer trace : 

In sacred scroll, j 

A responsive echo 

In the soul. 



[42] 



THE OTTER 

When Nature wakes to beauty, 

Space thrills with droning bees, 
And gentle summer breezes 

Play among the trees. 
Fishing boats and pleasure launches. 

Sailing craft and steamers grand 
Gem the bosom of the Otter 

Like a scene from fairy land. 

Would you quaff the thrilling nectar 

From the deeps of Nature's cup? 
Take a trip adown the Otter 

Ere the busy world is up; 
Ere the sun along the valley 

Dries the dewy fields of night. 
Watch the wild and timid creatures 

Coming forth into the light. 

Chattering flocks of hungry blackbirds 

Settle 'mong the nodding corn, 
The eagle soars on lofty pinions 

Fearless in the early morn ; 
Birds unknown and birds familiar, 

Blend their notes along the stream — 
Glides your boat in raptured silence. 

Like the music of a dream. 



[43] 



Looking back on many ages ' 

Otter's waters flow serene, 
None of us may know the stages 

Or the varied change of scene. 
We but guess how long the Red man 

Fished upon this quiet water, | 

When the dense primeval forest 

Darkened all the shining Otter. 

When the white man's flint lock musket 

Sent its first resounding call, 
Pioneer axes swung in rhythm 

To rear a village at the fall, j 

Rocks of ages, smooth and polished, I 

Standing silent, grim and tall, \ 

Breaks the Otter reckless o'er them, | 

Foaming, thundering at the Fall. ■ 

Men of iron will and courage ; 

Wrought far past the eventide, , 

Ere McDonough's fleet went sailing 

Down the Otter's shining tide; 
Cut their way around the British j 

In the darkness of the night, i 

Where they blocked the river's entrance, i 

And routed them in flight. 

From Widow Story's historic cave , 

To Fort Cassin's storied shore, '\ 

The Otter has been the water way j 

For men and deeds of yore. j 

[44] I 



What scenes await the future years 
Adown Time's coming ages 

We know not, neither can we guess 
The varied, changing stages. 

Men come and go — are laid to rest. 

Not so our storied river. 
Unswerving on its steady course 

It flows and flows forever. 
Fond memory weaves a golden thread 

Along this shimmering water, 
Endearing all its winding way — 

Our peaceful shining Otter. 



[45] 



IN THE TWILIGHT 

The; sun hangs low in the beautiful west, 
And over the earth in her green robes dressed, 
Is falling the holy hush of rest 

Like a prayer on the wings of the soul. 

The bleating of sheep and the lowing of kine 
From the pasture slopes and the woods of pine, 
Are stilled by the farmer's thatch and vine 
Where the flocks lie down to rest. 



The deep toned bell from the quaint old tower, \ 

Over the village roofs in swelling power ] 

Is tolling forth the matin hour, j 

With an answering thrill in each man's j 

breast. i 



The dark woods lie on every side ; 
The grand hills rear their heads in pride. 
In the holy hush of eventide, 
They worship in temples of air. 

On the hill, in the valley, the village lies ; 
Its peaceful spires through the foliage rise 
In the ruddy glow of the sunset skies — 
A pastoral picture fair. 

[46] 



My soul bows down in the hush of the hour, 
In reverence accepting His deep, subduing 

power, 
And each trembling leaf and folded flower 
Are bowed in worship too. 



[47] 



THE HOMELIGHT 

Set the light burning, 
Keep the home warm 
For the sake of the dear one 
Out in the storm. 

The world is a battle field, 

They who earn bread 
Must wrest it by toil 

With hands or with head. 

Set it burning, my dear, 
Let its radiance shine. 
Make the home homelike. 
Thy task is divine. 

The smile of good cheer. 

The soft word of praise, 
The neatly clad housewife, 
The small thrifty ways. 

Make the home beautiful 

And keep the hearth warm, 
For some one who's toiling 
Out in the storm. 

Set the light burning. 
Thy task is divine, 
Over thine own life 
Its halo will shine. 



[48] 



A PRAYER i 

O God, I 

Teach me 

To take mine inheritance. \ 

To reach out 

And accept I 

From Thy hand, I 

All \ 

Thou hast intended 

For me. 

O God, 1 

Teach me 

From this full measure, 

To mete out ] 

To others j 

Who, courage lost, j 

Are j 

Blindly groping 

For Thee. ! 



[49] 



IN THE DARK 

I LAY in the dark 

And watched the lights of the town, 

Between them and my open window 

Great trees swayed gently in the wind, 

They made a moving fret-work 

Of leaves 

On the wall, 

And the white hangings 

Of my bed. 

My eyes flew wide open 

At the strangeness 

Of the thing. 

As they advanced 

And receded, 

I lay and watched them 

In the dark. 



[60] 



DISAPPOINTMENT 

We made a pact, 

You and I, 

The sun shone 

And it transfigured our path. 

We came to the forks of the road, 

You said this way, 

I said that, 

And tho we came this way, 

I still think it is wrong. 

For it leads thru a land 

Where there is no sunshine. 

I love the sunshine — 

And the cup you gave me to drink — 

What was in it? 

The lees are bitter, bitter. 

And there is a taste of ashes 

In my mouth. 



[51] 



ON THE CLIFFS 

We sat on the cliffs at sunset 
And gazed o'er the lake so fair, 

With never a breeze disturbing 
The silent evening air. 

The sky was clothed in splendor, 
In hues of pink and blue, 

And the water blushed in answer, 
A beautiful roseate hue. 

Dark cedars stood like sentinels 
Along the rock bound shore. 

And down in the clear still water 
We saw them reflected o'er. 

The hills rose far in the distance 
And fair green isles we saw, 

An enchanted panorama — 
A picture without a flaw. 

Then slowly the bright hues faded. 
The light went out of the west, 

The night and its sad sweet voices 
Folded the place in rest. 



[62] 



LOVE 

She thrills the soft breeze of the morning, 

That stirs like a whisper, the trees, 

And the gold that embays the bright petals. 

When flowerets unfold to the sun. 

All the shadowy places are shining 

With a wonderlight fair to behold; 

The glare of the noontide is softened, 

That lies on the meadow's rare bloom. 

And I float as a gossamer bubble 

Down the wane of the afternoon. 

When evening shuts down like a mantle, 
And wraps me in softest repose. 
She comes like the down of the thistle 
And twines in my hair the red rose. 



[53] 



VERSE 

It may be a song, a fragment of prayer ; 

A quaver of bird carol in the air ; 

A whisper of leaves in a maple's shade ; 

A glint of sunshine across a glade; 

The ripple and purl of dappling streams ; 

The hazy memory of happy dreams; 

A dewy rose on a summer morn ; 

The hush of nature where love is born. 

A woodland path that once you knew, 
Where anemone and violet grew; 
The perfume wafted from a flower; 
A bit of comfort in sorrow's hour — 
These are the things for a poet planned, 
Couched in a language men understand. 



[54] 



HOW THE WEST BEGAN 

From the sunrise land of a thousand hills ; 
From the lure of rivers, lakes and rills ; 
From the farms along New England's waters, 
Went forth her sturdy sons and daughters, 
That's how the West began. 

Across prairies drear and lonely. 
Each dragging day a few miles only. 
Belongings packed in a wagon van — 

That's how the West began. 

New England's men and women too, 
The ones who went to dare and do. 
Thru sweat and toil and often tears. 
They were the Western pioneers — 

That's how the West began. 

A little shack on the rolling plain. 
The stress of toil, the sting of pain. 
The pluck and vim of the Eastern man — 
That's how the West began. 



[55] 



NOR YET ALONE 

I DWELL among dear familiar things, 
Your gifts and mine; 
Souvenirs of happy days ; 
Keepsakes from those now dead ; 
Things brought from lands and climes 
Where our varied journeyings led. 

Now you have gone 

And left me here alone. 

Yet not alone. Among fond memories 

I dwell in sweet content ; 

The happy voices of children dear, 

Their songs and laughter. 

Plaints and woes 

Again I seem to hear. 

Oft I pass from room to room 

Where their belongings are ; 

I touch them lovingly and think 

How they are doing things 

Out in the world afar; 

Their letters come, a welcome break 

From books galore, and dreams, 

And work so light and varied 

It but a pastime seems. 



[56] 



When I too pass out 

There will be none to live ' 

Among the things you left. : 

Returning feet of wandering ones i 

May echo here once more; 

Or maybe loneliness will creep I 

Into the empty rooms, | 

And no footprints will disturb i 

The dust upon the floor. ' 

I love the room ! 

That once was yours, '\ 

Its window toward the town ; ] 

I bring my work to linger here i 

In the stillness sweet, ' 

You seem so very near. j 

Fond memories are mine j 

With dreams and books galore; | 
Content and peace 
And letters dear, 
How could I ask for more? 



[57] 



WHEN I WOULD GO 

When the summer breeze is soft and light 
Before the coming -of the night; 
When the sunset lures me home to rest 
With my windows open toward the west. 
When the flowers fold their leaves to sleep 
And twilight shadows softly creep, 
And softly trail from sifting wings 
A dimness o'er familiar things ; 

Through the gathering dusk of coming night 
My soul would wing its outward flight, 
For me, dear children, do not weep. 
But all the loving memories keep 
Of days gone by and days unborn ; 
Fill well the places you adorn. 



[58] 



GOD'S SMILE 

The dismal rain was falling 

From out a leaden skj, 
And mournful winds were calling 

To waters rolling high. 

But when the rain clouds lifted 

And showed the rifts of blue, 
My heart grew lighter, lighter, 

God's smile was shining through. 
It touched the sodden landscape 

And all the trembling leaves, 
'Til they shone in dewy splendor — 

A fretwork of spangled weaves. 

It kissed the pulsing waters 

And broadened o'er the plain, 
Refulgent on the mountain tops 

Its glory shone again. 
My heart grew lighter, lighter. 

As I opened its sombrous door, 
And glory filled a sanctum 

Where shadows lay before. 



[59] 



OUR NAME 

You have heard them tell, O children ! 

In the misty long ago, 
How our fathers struck for Freedom 

A strong decisive blow; 
How they seized a rusty musket ; 

In the furrow left the plow ; 
Hunger bore and grinding hardship 

With the death damp on their brow. 

'Tis a thing we should remember 

Traced on History's solemn page, 
Why our hero, Ethan Allen, 

In that dim and distant age. 
Named our fair and ancient city 

For a man in sunny France; 
For the old Green Mountain heroes 

Never did a thing by chance. 

Count De Vergennes, our namesake. 

Made the history of this land. 
For our fathers, struggling handful, 

He made firm and loyal stand. 
He detained the pressing orders 

The King of France detailed ; 
Refusing to help the Colonies 

'Til all Louis' ships had sailed. 

[60] 



The King decreed that Franklin 

Should not enter Paris gate, 
But the same friend, ever watchful. 

Saw the message came too late. 
That he stood in staunchest friendship 

By our sainted Franklin's side, 
Is an all sufficient reason 

For an homage true and wide. 

Vergennes gave us Count De Rochambeau, 

With his brave twelve thousand strong, 
Holding back King George of England, 

Helping right a grievous wrong. 
Through him America received 

Its beloved Lafayette, 
Whose effective aid to Washington 

We never shall forget. 

And this is why, O children ! 

That this favored spot of earth. 
With its cloud capped mountain setting 

And its shining river girth. 
Caught the soul of Ethan Allen 

With a name he cherished dear ; 
On your memory deep inscribe it ; 

Count De Vergennes, or Charles Gravier. 



[61] 



WHY WE LOVE VERGENNES 

A Rebel Patriot paused one day 
Beside yon cataract's foaming spray. 
A few small houses stood beside 
The river's swift and turbid tide ; 
A few small houses and that was all, 
Clustered for safety about the Fall. 
What was it he saw that his pulses fired .^ 
What was it he felt that his soul inspired? 
In the wilderness lay this sunlit glade, 
A hallowed spot by Nature made; 
A little spot where the trees were felled, 
But Ethan Allen in vision beheld 
A busy city beside the Fall, 
And obeying at once the insistent call. 
He secured a charter to hold forever 
This charming spot beside the river. 

That's why we love Vergennes. 

May it bring to us a thought of cheer. 
It was not because of the numbers here; 
The heritage that is handed down 
To us, who live in this quaint old town. 
Is mightier far than the millions made 
In the sweating toil of the shops of trade. 
The beaten way our fathers trod 
Lay close to Nature and Nature's God ; 
The quiet homes and the simple life ; 
The absence of turmoil, crime and strife ; 
[62] 



The ready sympathy and right good will ; 
Each man and woman with a place to fill, 
That's why we love Vergennes. 

The song birds flit among our trees, 
Their glad notes mingle with the breeze ; 
A little earlier they come 
To make with us their summer home. 
The wild flowers bloom not far away 
Where meadows spread their green array ; 
The woods and hills enclose us round ; 
The mountain peaks our vision bound, 
And gorgeous sunsets down the west 
Herald the night's approaching rest. 
When peace and quiet settle down 
Like a benediction o'er the town. 

That's why we love Vergennes. 

The Sabbath is a little holier here. 
Its bells ring out in cadence clear. 
The pave is worn with passing feet 
As they call and call with a meaning sweet. 
The song of praise ; the hush of prayer ; 
The belief in a Heavenly Father's care, 
Form a tie of brotherhood true and tried. 
And all men worship side by side. 
Each man's better self awakes 
When the Sabbath stillness o'er us breaks. 
That's why we love Vergennes. 

[63] 



Among the friend^ we cherish dear, 
Some go out each passing year ; 
On the hillside green they sweetly rest, 
The peace of God on each still breast. 
A mound of earth ; a gift of flowers ; 
Each hallowed dead, they still are ours ; 
Inert and silent, tho they lie. 
They bind us with another tie. 

That's why we love Vergennes. 

The dearest spot in all the earth 
Is the goodly land that gave us birth. 
The charm of home has a strong appeal ; 
It binds the heart with bands of steel, 
And if we go out to criticise 
Some loiterer waits to put us wise ; 
We easily find the things we seek ; 
Some spot in our brother's armor weak. 
This was not in the vision the Patriot saw, 
But a city of homes without a flaw; 
The ready sympathy and right good will ; 
Each man and woman with a place to fill. 
And, friends, " it is up to you and me " 
To make this place what it ought to be. 
That's why we love Vergennes. 

Read at Old Home Week celebration July second, nine- 
teen hundred sixteen. 



[64] 



BELLS 

One Sabbath eve at leisure sweet, 

Through a village street I strolled, 
While the bells from the neighboring churches 

For evening service tolled. 
Sweetly the chimes were calling 

The people forth to pray. 
And the shades of night were falling 

That lovely autumn day. 

The matin bells are ringing 

Through the shades of the soft twilight, 
Sweet old time memories bringing 
Home to my heart to-night. 
My pulses thrill as I listen, 
I love their music so ; 
They carry me back to other days, 
And the bells of long ago. 



[651 



LAYING THE CORNER STONE 

We have gathered in the sunshine 

'Neath the blue September sky, 
With yon cloud-capped mountain setting 

And the river rolling by ; 
And perchance there are some in Heaven 

Who once this place have known, 
Who would like to bend and listen 

As we lay this corner stone. 

Fit spot for a temple of knowledge 

On this beautiful sloping lawn. 
With its great trees whispering overhead 

And its entrance facing the dawn, 
Where many feet may go in and out; 

The weary, the sated and old. 
And eager boys and girls who seek 

For the aid its shelves will hold. 



And when the hues of sunset 

Entranced the senses hold. 
And all its western windows 

Shine out like burnished gold. 
When evening shadows stealing 

And stars in the heaven shine. 
And man for a hand of guiding 

Comes in touch with the Divine, 

[66] 



It is then we may remember 

This pleasant place of rest, 
And find the thoughts of other men 

Whose feet the way have pressed ; 
Who have struggled with the problems 

We are daily called to meet ; 
They have traced the opening chapters 

We may the book complete. 

And shall we not gladly cherish 

A memory true and fond, 
Of one who has crossed the portal 

To the unknown world beyond? 
'Tis a privilege and a duty 

To honor his name to-day, 
Whose generous gift enables us 

This corner stone to lay. 

His thought went out to benefit 

The people he lived among, 
And tho so few of them understood. 

Warm in his heart it sung; 
This quiet one of the blameless life 

Who planned for others cheer. 
Will continue to live in other lives 

With every passing year. 



[67] 



And when the subtle changes come 

That over towns will creep, 
And when our children's children 

In quiet graves do sleep; 
This beautiful hall will still be here 

A blessing to mankind, 
In whose treasures every passer-by 

A helpfulness may find. 

O, sons and daughters of old Vergennes 

And part of a noble state, 
Whose bracing air and grand blue hills 

Lead up to Heaven's gate ; 
You are sharers in this benefit — 

For you this liberal plan ; 
May you rise to fill your privilege 

And help your fellow man. 

When all the wealth and pomp of earth 

Like mists have passed away. 
When fanes and domes and spires 

In dust and ashes lay ; 
The deeds of love from man to man 

On Eternity's boundless shore, 
In fadeless glory still will shine 

As stars forever more. 



[68] 



To-day as we stand on the hillside j 

'Neath the blue September sky, 
Framed in by the western mountains j 

And the river rolling by; ] 

May we come within the radiance i 

Around the Great White Throne, 
For the faith, the hope and charity, 

As we lay this comer stone. 

(Read at the laying of the corner stone for the Bixby ] 

Memorial Library at Vergennes, September 21, 1911). I 



[69] 



A SONG 

There's a song in the air, 

I can hear the sweet notes, 
It's ringing in joy 

From hundreds of throats ; 
It invades the deep quiet 

Shut up in my breast, 
And now I am longing 

To sing with the rest. 



THE END 



[70] 



